


Just By Looking at Her

by evilythedwarf



Series: All the songs make sense [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, F/F, Feelings, Movie Stars, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage, Romance, Statutory Rape, actors!, all those feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 18,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilythedwarf/pseuds/evilythedwarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Emma Swan, single mother and reluctant actress, and Regina Mills, movie star extraordinaire, meet on the set of their latest movie, they can't possibly imagine that their lives will change forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Emma

**Author's Note:**

>   
> **Art by** [fictorium](http://fictorium.tumblr.com).  
>   
> [MIX HERE](http://8tracks.com/shelby5/just-by-looking-at-her)  
> 

**NOVEMBER, 2012**

“You know, this is why God invented assistants,” Ruby says, signaling the mess of suitcases and boxes all around the trunk of your SUV. She casually kicks a box and raises an eyebrow at you when it doesn’t even move. “Ouch! What do you even have in there, rocks?”

“Henry’s books,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

“His _books_? Seriously? You’re going on location honey, you’re not _moving_.”

You pick up the aforementioned box, groaning a little at the effort. The box really is heavy as fuck. 

“It’s three weeks in Louisiana and then 3 months in Oahu. He needs his stuff,” you argue.

“Sure honey,” she says. “Where is the little man anyway? I thought he was all on board with moving, now.”

“He’s taking a nap,” you reply. 

It was a struggle, getting Henry to be okay with leaving their home for such a long time. You usually try to take local jobs, to stay in one place for as long as possible, for him, and for the most part you’re pretty successful. This is a great opportunity, this is as Big Name’d a director as you are likely to ever work with, and if you want to get some recognition and the chance to be more selective with your work, then you have to do it. It doesn’t hurt that the script is really freaking great and the rest of the cast reads like a list of nominees for the Oscars or something.

You’ve been working on the kid for months, trying to make him think it’s all a wonderful adventure. The promise of a tropical island vacation didn’t do as much as you thought it would, but then again, yours is an indoors sort of 5 year old. Indoorsy, kind, smart and well behaved, he may be the strangest kid you have ever met.

“Have you called Belle?” Ruby asks, handing you a suitcase. For all her whining and diva-ing, Ruby is a hard worker, be it on the stage, on rehearsals or just helping a friend lift a few boxes.

“Not yet. You know how she gets, I don’t want her to worry about us.”

“She only worries cause she cares, but yeah, I wouldn’t want her in my ear all the way from here to Louisiana, call her when you get there, maybe she’ll still be around.”

“Is everything alright with you two?” you ask, aware of the complicated friendship your two closest friends share. They are thick as thieves as long as they are both in the same place at the same time, but once they are away from each other things become strained, as if neither of them knows what to do when they’re not together.

“We’re fine,” Ruby tells you. “We really are. It’s just, she’s talking about moving to Boston again, and I just- I don’t know. She’s a grown woman, she can do whatever she wants. We’ll be fine just you and I, won’t we?”

You have no idea of how to reply to that. Sure, you love Ruby to death, and Henry adores his unofficial godmother, but as much fun as she is, you would be hard pressed to handle her all by yourself. In the absence of Belle, Ruby has a tendency to stray and go back to her old ways. Not that you know what those were, exactly, but they seems to consist mostly of drinking a little too much, and being a little too undiscriminating when it comes to the people she brings home. You’ve hear the stories, mostly from Ruby’s own lips, about her misspent youth, and you’ve known her long enough to recognize Belle’s positive influence. 

“I think the rest has to go in the backseat,” you say, loading one of the last boxes. “How did you two become friends anyway?” you ask, your tone purposefully nonchalant. Ruby doesn’t answer, instead she stands next to you and peeks inside the surprisingly large trunk of your car. 

“You could still fit a box or two in here,” she says casually, completely ignoring the question.

“You’re gonna have to tell me some time Rubes,” you tell her, amused. It’s a story both Ruby and Belle refuse to tell and it only makes you more curious every time they refuse.

Ruby leans against you. She’s taller, more so because of the heels she insists on wearing everywhere, and she can comfortably rest her head on top of yours. “I’ll miss you,” she says, out of nowhere.

You sneak a hand around her waist. “I’ll miss you, too,” you tell her. “I’ll call, alright?”

“I know you will,” Ruby says, kissing the top of your head. She is so surprisingly affectionate sometimes. She sighs, loudly, and then stands straight again. “I’ll go get the munchkin, alright?”


	2. Emma

You lift the last two boxes. _Henry Swan’s stuffed animals_ and _Henry Swan’s toy cars_ , respectively, carefully scribbled with orange marker on all four sides of each box. Your boy sure is neat. 

Your phone rings. You look at the screen and smash the backdoor closed before picking up. 

“Hey, August,” you say. “What’s up?”

“You sure you don’t want to fly?” he asks, forgoing hello. “Two days on the road, Emma!”

“Kid just got ever an ear infection, you think I’m going to stick him in a plane?” 

“I know, I know. Are you almost ready to leave?”

“Yup,” you reply, leaning against the car. 

“Will you call me when you stop for the night?”

“Yup.”

“Do you have everything you need for-”

“Oh my god, August. I’m an adult, you know? I can take care of myself.”

“Hey, you can’t blame a guy for worrying about his little sister, can you?”

“You’re not actually my brother,” you say, but you smile, and you’re sure he can hear it in your voice. He may not be your own flesh and blood, but until Henry, August was the closest thing to an actual family you ever had. “But I love you anyway,” you add. “I’ll call you later, alright?” you hurriedly say before hanging up.

Ruby is walking out of your building, Henry in her arms, already bundled up in his little blue pea coat. He stirs, opens his eyes and somehow knows exactly where to look to find you. “Hey, Ma,” he mumbles.

“You ready to go?” you ask walking towards Ruby and taking him from her arms. He nods, yawns and then settles against you, his little arms tight around your neck. His cheeks are still flushed from sleep and you almost don’t want to put him down. Ruby opens the door to the backseat and you gently settle him on his booster seat, testing the seatbelt to make sure he’s strapped correctly. His head lolls to the side and his mouth is slightly open, he looks perfect.

“Hey, Mama Bear,” Ruby calls to you. “It’s time to go.”

You close the door, as silently as you are able to, and turn around to find yourself engulfed in one of Ruby’s staple bear hugs. 

“Take care of that boy, alright? And take care of yourself,” she says without letting go. “And try to get laid, please. And don’t, don’t do that thing where you don’t talk to anyone because you’re afraid they won’t like you. Try to make some friends, alright?”

“Ruby, I can’t breathe,” you say, but you don’t let go of her either.

“And if you see Belle, tell her I miss her. Just, tell her to come home, okay?”

You nod, finally letting go. 

“I’m really going to miss you Rubes,” you whisper, your voice wavering. “I’ll call, okay?” you promise, louder and more in control of yourself. You open the driver’s door and climb in, put the key in the ignition and start the car. “Bye Ruby!” you say, driving away. Ruby waves goodbye, and you can see her in the rearview mirror until she turns the corner.

Getting out of the city is murder, and it’s almost an hour before you’re on the I-78 and can relax your grip on the steering wheel. Henry is snorting gently on the backseat, clutching an action figure he must have smuggled out inside his coat. There’s a travel bag next to him, filled with everything he could possibly need on the trip but he hasn’t woken up long enough to go through it yet. 

Truth be told, he’ll probably cope with the long car trip better than you; being cooped up inside a small space for long stretches of time is definitely not one of your favorite activities. 

You miss your apartment already. You fell in love with the little two-bedroom the minute you saw it, with its green walls and hardwood floors, it was perfect for Henry and you. You can afford better now, as your financial advisor keeps telling you. You could potentially get something in Manhattan proper, a house, even, if you’re willing to rent, but there’s something about the apartment, the first place you ever owned, your own little corner of the world, and you are unwilling to leave it behind.


	3. Regina

The downside to travelling first class is that someone is always watching you. You haven’t even put down your glass and a flight attendant is already next to you, offering another drink, a bottle of water or whatever it is you want.

“Nothing, thank you,” you reply. You refrain from wincing; that came out harsher than you intended it. You don’t mean to be short with the staff but you are deeply tired. Every muscle in your body hurts, and you haven’t had a good night sleep in weeks. It’s your own fault, of course, you’re the one who insisted three weeks were enough to prep for your big dance number, you’re the one who thought pole dancing couldn’t possibly be all that complicated. You were wrong. Your legs, especially, feel like they are about to fall off.

Part of you likes it though, because being this bone-tired makes you grounded in a way. Most of the time you feel like there are a million and one things you could be doing instead of sitting still and learning lines, instead of being carted around the world for one role or the next. You were meant for so much more, you think. You were meant to do things, go to college, learn new things, decipher the meaning of the universe, be the person they make movies about instead of the one just acting on them.

You tried to sleep, when you first got on the plane, but you were too sore and uncomfortable to be able to relax properly. And now you are not only tired but bored, and considering you’re still an hour away from landing, there’s nothing you can do.

You open your carry-on bag, pick a magazine from the stack your publicist sent last week and you still haven’t gotten around to reading. You flip through the pages, skimming, not really interested in what they have to say about anything, until you find the article dedicated to you. A picture catches your attention: you, still bald, eyes that hadn’t yet turned brown, all of 4 days old, at the set of your first movie. You allow a passing thought for your father, who had been directing and was more than happy to have you play the role of Baby Girl in what had been one of his last movies in America. The child who was supposed to do it got a bad case of jaundice, you remember your mother telling you that when you didn’t want to act, or when you complained about having to move again. People are easily replaceable and at the first sign of weakness no one would hesitate to replace you, she drilled into your head. 

You stare at the picture for a long time. You would have liked to see it before. Keep it in an album, surrounded by other family photos, and you think it’s terribly unfair that everyone in the world has access to it when you didn’t even know something like this existed until now. They’ve all seen it, and you are the last one. You turn the page to Leopold and you, on your wedding day, and the fury rises up immediately, all traces of nostalgia gone. 

You would have thrown it against the wall had you been alone. Instead, you calmly close the magazine and stick it back in the bag, losing all interest in the rest. You are so proud of how your hands remain steady. You request a bottle of water and take out your phone, mentally preparing yourself for the dozen emails you’ve been ignoring for the past few days.

Mother has sent 4 emails. The first is fairly normal, stuff one might imagine all mothers ask their daughters. When are you taking a vacation, did the move went all right, when are you going to visit? You have to read it twice. Never in your life has your mother asked such mundane questions. You frown as you open email number 2. Ah, you think, this is more her thing. It’s your mother’s schedule for the following month, and a request that you meet up and do lunch at some point during her stay in New York. The third email describes a meeting between your mother and a new producer she’s been working with, and a request for you to meet with him in New York next month. Well, you think, that explains things: Mother is up to something. You should probably investigate before it explodes in your face again, but you have too much going on at the moment and frankly, dealing with Cora is about the last thing you want to do. Ever. 

Your mother is a complicated person, to say the least, and after 25 years of knowing her the only thing you are certain of is that you will never manage to understand her. Still, she is your mother and you love her more than you know is reasonable and even after all she has done over the years, you still long for her. She still believes she has a right to intervene in your life, to make decisions without consulting and to dictate what you do and when you do it.

Your marriage ended rather abruptly 3 years ago and you’re extremely proud of yourself because despite all her considerable efforts, your mother hasn’t managed to get control over your life again. Still, you know all she has to do is ask and you’ll turn into an eager to please child all over again, so it’s in your best interest to not see her at all. 

You continue to peruse through your emails, answering the most pressing ones but deleting most of them until you reach Kat’s latest message. She’s written a new pilot script and she really wants you to read it. You almost smile. It’s not a sure thing yet, but Kathryn Nolan is your oldest, and probably your only friend, and she knows what this means to you. You’ve been working your entire life and haven’t lived anywhere for more than 3 months, and you desperately crave some permanence and a TV series could do that for you. You could get a real apartment, one you actually live in instead of just using it to get your mail and have it redecorated every 6 months. Maybe even a house. You’d have time to tend a garden and maybe even have a cat. 

You find yourself smiling as you scroll through your inbox, thinking about the house you’d like to have. You’re so intent on clearing your inbox before the plane lands that you don’t realize you are circling the airport until that flight attendant kindly asks you to turn off your phone.


	4. Regina

Louisiana is too humid, and it’s not doing your hair any favors. Sydney, your PA, informs you there’s a driver waiting for you outside. You only have your small carry-on, everything else Sydney brought in advance, so it’s not even 10 minutes later that you find yourself in the back of a limousine. It’s only a twenty minutes drive to your hotel but you fall asleep anyway, not waking up until Sydney gently shakes you awake. 

“Ms. Mills? We’re here. Check-in has already been handled, so if you want to settle in and get some rest, a car will pick you up in the morning. Your things are unpacked. There’s water and fresh fruit in your room. Is there anything else you need?”

You shake your head, too tired at this point to even speak, and let Sydney escort you upstairs to your room. As soon as you’re alone you start taking off your clothes, not caring what a mess you’re making in the previously pristine room. You’ll worry about it in the morning. 

A few hours later you startle awake, you sit up in bed and looks around the unfamiliar room.

“Another hotel,” you say, softly. You put your clothes back on, wrinkled as they are, and proceed to go over every drawer and every bag, making sure all your things are where you need them. As usual, Sydney has handled everything perfectly. If he didn’t have that nasty tendency to inform your mother on everything you do, you’d think he’s the perfect personal assistant. Most of your things are still packed, waiting for you to move to the small condo production has arranged for you. As soon as that’s done, Sydney will go for a vacation. You’ll be here until after Christmas, and you decided before you even left New York that you’d give Sydney the time off, so once you’re settled, he’s going back to New York.

After a shower and a fresh change of clothes, you feel a lot better. You drink a bottle of water and take an aspirin. You know you should take the phone and start making calls. You need to answer Mother’s emails, otherwise Cora will feel the need to call, and you just can’t handle talking to your mother. You also need to do something about the Graham situation. You haven’t so much as thought about him since you ended the relationship, but he mentioned you in his last interview and it doesn’t sit well with you to leave the issue open to discussion. He should know better, really, but then again, he’s not exactly the brightest crayon in the box. He’s kind though, and that alone made you crave his touch for far too long to be acceptable. You really, really need to talk to him. Soon.

You definitely need to call your lawyer, too. Leopold’s estate needs to be settled once and for all and last time you spoke to her, Mary-Margaret was hell bent on donating her father’s personal film collection and you just can’t have that. As it stands now, Mary-Margaret needs your approval, and more importantly your signature, for everything, but you are determined to put this behind you and forget you were ever married. Almost 4 years after he died and you still have to deal with the consequences of that marriage.

You sit next to a window. You have a view of the garden and it’s pleasant enough. You take a deep breath and unlock the screen of your phone.


	5. Emma

You make it to location just in time to meet Helen, who is going to be Henry’s on set nanny, before you have to meet with the make-up department. Helen came highly recommended, and she looks grandmotherly and kind, but it was still hard to leave your son with a stranger, no matter her degrees and qualifications. Henry is comfortable enough though, and he settled in well in your trailer so at least you can make it to make-up on time. You’ve already done all kinds of screen tests and readings in New York, and this is pretty much just the make-up team taking a good look at you and examining your face, arms, ankles and everything else that might possibly show on camera, inch by inch. It’s extremely humiliating and hearing about all the things the team needs to conceal to make you pretty enough to be on camera is not exactly a confidence boost either.

When you finally get there there’s a women leaning against the make-up room door. She looks like they took her straight out of a 60’s magazine cover, all in black, straight hair that goes down to her waist and dark eyeliner around her eyes. She looks like she needs an ivory cigarette holder and one of those black berets and you are more than a little intimidated. Until the woman opens her mouth, that is.

“Well, I’ve been waiting for you, darling!” she says, her voice sweet and melodic, an accent from somewhere west of the Mississippi. “I’m Rachel. Come on in and let’s get started, doll, because believe me, you don’t wanna be here anymore than you need to today.”

“Hi,” you tell her, following her inside the room. Rachel pats a chair, one of those gigantic spinning monstrosities and you dutifully sit down. “Why don’t I want to be here today?”

“Oh, sugar, do you know your cast mates yet?”

“I’ve met Charles before, but no one else. Why?”

Rachel hums as she pulls your hair back in a ponytail.

“I’ve known that girl for more than 20 years, you know? She’s sweet. Really sweet. Polite too.”

“What girl?” you ask, as she takes each of your arms and inspects them carefully. She notices your tattoo and the scar near your right elbow.

“Hasn’t changed in 20 years. Still a sweetheart, and such a hard worker too,” Rachel continues, as she takes out a camera and holds it in front of your face. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who works as hard as she does. The first time she sat on my chair, wasn’t even 4 yet, and such a pro.”

“What? What are you talking about?” you open your eyes in shock as the flash goes straight to the base of your skull. “I can’t see,” you say, as you rapidly blink.

“Be still, honey,” Rachel says, taking your chin in her hand and snapping another blinding photo. “You have gorgeous eyes, you know that? High cheek bones too. Anyway, only thing ever got Regina riled was her momma.”

“Wait, Regina? Regina Mills?”

“Got a call from her momma while she was sitting in this here chair, not an hour ago. Poor thing had to go straight to shooting. It ain’t pretty. You haven’t met her before, so if I were you I’d wait for another day, alright? Now, you’re all done for today. I have your schedule here, so I’ll be seeing you tomorrow at 6. Get here on time cause I need to get a good look at those legs, honey. Now go on, I hear you have a little boy, go and spend some time with him before things get crazy round here.”


	6. Emma

You are still a little confused when you get to your trailer. Henry is curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Helen is sitting next to him, reading. 

“Oh, he just went down,” she says. “Are you leaving already? I’ll get his things ready.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say. “He’s still tired from the trip. I’ll just let him rest for a little.”

Helen nods and goes back to her book and you stand there looking at the kid. You should unpack your stuff. All the things you like to have around when you’re filming. Your ipod, your books, your redacted script with everything but your own lines blacked out. Your blanket. Your hand lotion, the extra charger for your phone. It’s all in a sports bag that now rests against the wall and you should really, really, get your things organized. But you are a curious person by nature, and guarded by habit, and you have more than few scenes with Regina Mills so you need to see what you’re dealing with.

Working with her intimidates the hell out of you, and not only because you’ve heard she is difficult and moody. You were surprised to learn the actress was only a couple of years older than you, considering she’s been famous for as long as you can remember, and it only makes your feelings of inadequacy stronger. 

You never set out to be an actress, famous or otherwise. You did for the money, because you needed to provide for your kid, because it seemed far easier to recite a few lines and look pretty than it was to be on your feet all day long making minimal wage in a greasy diner. They say you are a natural, and at first you got enough jobs so that you and Henry could get by, and then you made enough to start a college fund, to buy an apartment, to dress him up like the little kids she use to see at school, bundled up in scarves and knit caps, with their thick winter coats while you froze in a threadbare sweater you’d gotten second hand. 

And now you are about to film with some of the most talented people in the industry and all you can think is that they’ll take a look at you and send you back home.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell Helen, who is still peacefully reading next to a slumbering Henry. 

You go back to where the cameras are all set up around a makeshift picnic table. Regina Mills sits on the table, her legs incredibly long legs daintily crossed, managing to look like a lady while wearing cut-offs and a very revealing tank top, her long dark hair framing a look of profound displeasure. She has a cigarette in one hand, and you can’t help but stare at her lips. 

An AD walks towards her with an ashtray and the look the actress sends the poor kid would be enough to make you retreat in fear but the kid must be made of sterner stuff because he apparently manages to deliver a message too. Regina nods dismissively while crushing her cigarette.

You were too busy staring at her to notice the activity around you so in what seems like no time at all, another actor has stepped in and is now standing next to Regina. It’s Charles Shepherd, the only one in this entire mess you have met before. He waves at you and you manage to wave back, still enthralled by the woman on the picnic table who doesn’t bother to look your way. Jefferson, the director you have not yet spoken to, appears and suddenly everything is eerily quiet.

The cameras start rolling and you are amazed. That’s really the only word you can use. Regina Mills transforms in front of your eyes. You have seen some pretty good actors before, but they were nothing compared to this. Regina’s previous boredom or annoyance or whatever she was feeling is replaced by emotion. Her mouth trembles as she speaks and her eyes look like they are on the verge of tearing up. You barely hear what they are saying but you recognize this as their goodbye scene. Charles’s character is leaving Regina’s, and this is the last conversation they have before your character is introduced. For a second you feel almost guilty. What right do you have to turn this incredibly poised woman into the mess she is now? Of course none of this is real and you are guilty of nothing except maybe voyeurism because you just can’t tear your eyes away.

And then it’s over. The scene is over after a surprising single take and everyone is walking away. Everyone but Regina Mills, that is. The woman looks furious as she walks off, all tightly coiled tension and dark eyed ire and you start to understand what Rachel had meant. It is one hell of a day to meet Regina Mills for the first time.


	7. Regina

You’re angry at yourself. You completely lost it yesterday and now every time you step out of your trailer everyone looks at you like you’re about to blow up. Not that you cares, what they think about you, but you don’t exactly enjoy being avoided like the plague. It seems like everyone has agreed to give you a wide berth, and while you would normally appreciate it, it leaves you alone with your thoughts and today they are dominated by your mother. She threatened, in the most sweet and caring tone, of course, to fly in for Thanksgiving, and you are agonizing over it. You don’t want her anywhere near you. Physical proximity only seems to aggravate your anxiety and you turn into a babbling child, unable to stand up for yourself, whenever she’s around. A small part of you though, a younger part, misses her, wants her around. You can’t afford to indulge, though. Giving her access to your life again will never be right.

You try to concentrate on your script and review the handwritten notes you’ve added since you got it, but a knock at the door interrupts you. Since no one has talked to you in two days unless absolutely necessary and you know you’re not needed for anything right now, you’re more than a little surprised. You open the door and find a little boy standing there.

“Hi!” he says. You just stare at him, confused. The boy is holding a basket covered with a small red and white checkered cloth. 

“Are you, are you lost?” you manage to ask after a few more seconds of simply staring at him. You wonder who this child belongs to, and most importantly, you wonder what he is doing there, in front of your door, smiling at you like you are his friend, like you are a person that other people can just walk up to and smile at. 

He shakes his head, still smiling, and looks to the side, like he’s looking for someone. He looks adorable and he is obviously not afraid of you, so you find yourself liking him and begin to relax a little. And then that adorable little child is being lifted from the floor and engulfed in someone’s arms.

“Oh my god, kid! I told you to walk slowly. You think it’s easy to run in this shoes?” the woman asks. She’s dressed casually enough, in jeans and a soft wool sweater, but her leather boots are high and you are a little impressed with her ability to hold a child while wearing them. No, you think, it’s not easy to walk in 5-inch stilettos, let alone run in them. The woman lowers the little boy but holds him close to her. You recognize her immediately. Emma Swan, one of your cast mates, probably the only one you haven’t met before. The blonde woman turns to look at you and her eyes widen. Ah, so she has heard of you.

“I am so sorry,” she says. “He didn’t mean to disturb you. Were you busy? We’ll just go, don’t worry.” She takes the boy’s hand in hers and pulls him, gently, but the child doesn’t bulge.

“Ma! The pie!” he says, struggling to lift his basket. 

“Kid, I don’t think it’s such a great idea,” Emma Swan, who is apparently this boy’s mother, tells him.

“It’s fine, Miss Swan,” you say. Whatever the boy wants with you, it can’t be that bad and you are sorely lacking in human contact these days. The blonde sighs.

“He does this thing,” she starts. “If we’re on location for a holiday? He likes to make sure people have something nice if they’re away from their families,” she explains awkwardly. Signaling towards him. 

He is crouched next to his basket, lifting boxes and selecting one with a dark purple bow around it. He stands up and looks up at his mother. Emma runs her hand through his messy brown hair and sighs again.

“He worries,” she softly tells you. “About people being alone.”

He extends the small white box to you, beaming. “Happy Thanksgiving!” he shouts, though Thanksgiving is still three days away.

You look at him and frown. He is giving you a gift and it has been so long since anyone has done something nice for you without wanting something in return, or because it’s in their job description, that at first you don’t know what to do. You extend a shaky hand and wrap it around the package but don’t take it yet. 

“It’s apple,” he says. “An apple pie!”

“Apples are my favorite,” you tell him. “Thank you,” you say as you finally take it from him. He smiles at you and picks up his basket again.

“Bye!” he tells you before he starts walking away.

“Thank you,” Emma says. “For taking it.” She looks at her son, a worried look on her face. “I’m Emma Swan, by the way.” You don’t reply, just stand there until the other woman shrugs and follows the little boy. He didn’t even tell you his name and you are still standing there, holding a box full of apple pie you probably won’t eat, and wondering why getting it is almost making you cry.


	8. Regina

You are nervous, and you berate yourself over it all the way to her trailer. This is nothing, you think. You are Regina Victoria Mills, and you can do whatever you set your mind to. This is trivial and inconsequential. You take a deep breath anyway before knocking on the door. Emma Swan opens the door, frowning.

“Uhm… hi?”

“Hello, Miss Swan,” you say, poised and sure. “Your son was so kind the other, and I thought I’d return the favor.”

You hold a beautifully decorated basket of cookies in front of you. Chocolate chip, vanilla, peanut butter, macadamia nuts. Every kind of cookies you know how to bake, you did, and then you artfully arranged them and covered them and brought them into set for the little boy who has been on your mind for the last two days.

“Take them,” you say with a smile. Emma takes the basket and stares down at it. She cocks her head to the side and then looks up at you. You continue to smile, even though your face is beginning to tire.

“Well, have a lovely holiday!” you say, before turning and walking away.

“Hey!” a little voice calls from behind you. “Wait!” he says. And then he curls his little hand around yours and that makes you stop. It makes you freeze. 

“Henry!” Emma calls and you think oh, his name is Henry. And you think, oh, his fingers are so warm. And you ask yourself when was the last time anyone held your hand.

She pulls him away, gently, but he is still staring at you. 

“I’m sorry,” his mother starts to say. “I’m really, really, sorry.”

“It’s perfectly alright,” you tell her, even though it’s not. 

“Where are you going for Thanksgiving?” Henry asks you. He’s holding both of his mother’s hands, but he stares at you, an innocent smile on his face. You don’t know how to tell him you have nowhere to go.

“Henry, don’t pry,” Emma says.

“It’s fine,” you tell her before she starts apologizing again. “I’m not doing anything special Henry,” you say, “but thank you for asking.”

You try to walk away but his eyes bulge, before getting an incredibly sad look. He frowns and looks up at his mother. 

“Aw, kid,” she says.

“Ma, please.”

“Kid, come on,”

They seem to have an entire conversation in 7 words and about a thousand different facial expressions, and then he smiles, a full toothy grin and he looks at you again and then he’s talking to you and asking you a question but you must have heard wrong because there’s no way he just asked you to have Thanksgiving dinner with them tomorrow.

“Uhm, what?” you manage to reply.

Emma sends him inside and waits until he closes the trailer door to look at you.

“Dinner will be ready by 5, I think, but if you want to come earlier that’s fine,” she says, avoiding your eyes. Then she looks up at you and she must see your confusion because she quickly starts talking again: “Look,” she says. “It’s fine if you can’t come, or if you have other plans or whatever but, he needs to ask. He’s a good kid and-”

“I know,” you tell her. He is obviously a sweet, caring child, if a little impulsive. “He is very kind,” you add, and it makes her smile. You really like that smile, it makes her softer, somehow.

“Yeah… so, it’s totally fine if you can’t come, but if you do, it’ll really make his day, alright? He likes you.”

You nod. You’re not going to go, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“I’ll get you the address,” she says. “Hold on.”

She goes back inside her trailer and you don’t move, you’re still standing there, like your feet are stuck to the ground until she comes back and gives a piece of paper, torn from a spiral notebook, her address scribbled on with green magic marker. You stand there until her fingers brush yours and she gives you a sad sort of smile and then leaves and goes back inside and you hear the click of the door and only then you move, you walk away, you start going back to your own trailer.

You won’t go, you tell yourself, but you’re still clutching that stupid piece of paper.


	9. Regina

Mother didn’t come. You knew she wasn’t going to, and you really didn’t want her to. In fact, if she showed up in your doorstep right now, you would probably try to sneak out the back door, or at least pretend you weren’t home. In any case, this leaves you with a whole lot of nothing. 

You don’t know how to do Thanksgiving, not really, but sitting in the living room reading a Kurt Vonnegut novel is probably doing it wrong. You’re still in your pajamas and you haven’t had breakfast yet, and it’s cold, all of a sudden. It’s cold and you could really use a blanket, so you stand up and you go to the bedroom and you take a soft red blanket from the trunk under the windowsill and you wrap yourself in it even before you start moving back to the living room and then you see it on your bedside table, Emma Swan’s address, and then it’s an hour later and you are standing outside her door, in heels and a skirt, a bottle of wine in one hand and flowers on the other.

Emma Swan opens the door, and she smiles at you. 

“Hi!” she says. “Wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”

Me neither, you want to say, but you smile at her instead. You offer the wine and the flowers, but you end up taking them in yourself because suddenly she has an armful of Henry. She is shorter than you now, you notice. She is wearing jeans, barefoot and has her hair in a simple ponytail. She looks beautiful.

Inside, there is a woman sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Hello,” she tells you. She has a strange accent but her voice is warm and welcoming. Also, she looks vaguely familiar.

“This is Belle,” Emma says. “She’s in charge of the food.”

“And a good thing that is,” Belle says. “Emma here is not exactly knowledgeable when it comes to cooking.”

Emma looks sheepish, but she doesn’t deny it. She’s still carrying Henry, his head on her shoulder. She catches you staring.

“He just got up from his nap,” she tells you. “It takes him a while to wake up properly.” She puts him down and he walks towards you and you realize that you haven’t said anything since you first walked in. Henry takes your hand and pulls you towards the couch.

“Sit,” he tells you before sitting down and taking a box from beneath the coffee table. He takes out a sheet of brown paper and a pair of scissors and starts to carefully cut out pieces.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“It’s an Indian headdress,” he says seriously. “Do you want to make one?”

He looks at you with his lovely brown eyes and so you have no choice but to agree and you end up spending the better part of an hour building an Indian headdress.

“Oh, no!” he suddenly says.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. What could you have possibly done wrong?

“I forgot the glue!” he says, dramatically.

He runs off down a hall that you know leads to the bedrooms because this has the exact same layout as your place, and you turn around to find Emma Swan looking at you curiously from behind the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” she says. “For indulging him.”

“It’s the least I can do,” you reply politely. 

“You’re not how I thought you would be,” she tells you. “You’re so nice,” she adds, before she apparently realizes how that sounds. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to imply… I mean, it’s not like I know you or anything it’s just… what I mean is…” she trails off, looking at you, like she’s scared you’ll turn into the monster everyone told her you were.

She finally shuts up, but you wish she hadn’t because you don’t know what to tell her. Finally you say that she shouldn’t pay attention to gossip. You get up and go to the kitchen, and Belle asks you to help with the salad.

You work in silence, carefully tearing up the lettuce, mixing the dressing and dicing the tomatoes, until Emma appears next to you and sets a paper headdress in front of you. Apparently she finished it for you.

“Oh,” you say. “Thank you.”

“What I meant to say,” she starts, “is that I shouldn’t have listened to the rumors. You’re a nice person, and I’m glad you’re here today.”

“Well, they weren’t all wrong.”

She smiles at you, like she knows something you don’t.

“I wasn’t exactly pleasant on my first day,” you admit. 

“Yeah, I saw,” she tells you. You look up at her, alarmed. “I’m sure you have a good reason though,” she adds.

The rest of the afternoon is far easier. Henry decided that since he and you are Indians, his mother and Belle, whose connection to Emma and her son you still don’t quite understand, should be pilgrims and he starts working on their hats while you grown-ups open a bottle of wine and wait for the turkey to be done.


	10. Regina

Isabelle Thorndike is a Broadway actress and you’ve seen her in quite a few plays. You didn’t recognize her at first because her larger than life presence on stage bares little to no resemblance to the woman you saw stuffing a turkey earlier, but once you and her started talking you discovered she is a fascinating person, if a little too sweet and bubbly for your taste. She has been on stage since she was 6, and she loves it, but she’s been focusing on her formal education for the last few of years and she has been living in South Carolina for the last 6 months, doing a dialect study with one of her former professors. You are incredibly jealous. You have no interest in the origins of dialect, or whatever else they are studying, but the chance to do something else with your life is one you would have loved.

“Did you go to college?” Emma asks you when she notices your faraway look. You shake your head. “Me neither,” she tells you before turning and smiling at Belle, who is still enthusiastically talking about her research.

The oven timer begins beeping and Belle stands up immediately. You rise to help her but Emma puts a hand on your arm.

“Let her,” she says, shaking her head. “She’s really intense when it comes to the turkey.”

You sit in companionable silence and Emma pours you another glass of wine.

“Is this a good idea?” you ask.

“Come on, live a little,” she smiles. “It’s not like you have to drive,” she adds, “I saw the town car that dropped you off.”

You raise you glass and tip it in her direction and she does the same.

“Dinner is ready!” Belle announces from the kitchen, a huge smile on her face. You and Emma start carrying the food to the table, which was already set when you got there, while Belle carves the Turkey. Henry is patiently waiting for you, though he must be hungry by now. You’ve just set down a bowl of mashed potatoes when the doorbell rings. Emma frowns.

“Can you get it?” she asks you. She has a salad in one hand and a pumpkin pie in the other and looks a little confused. She told you earlier that she wasn’t expecting anyone else.

You open the door to a couple of strangers, a woman with red streaks on her long dark hair and a thin man who frowns as soon as he sees you.

“Uh, is Emma here?” the woman asks.

“Oh my god,” Emma screams from behind you. “Oh my god you guys! What are you doing here?”

You barely move in time to avoid being run over by her, when she launches herself at the two people on her front door.

“Hey Em,” the man says. “Couldn’t miss Thanksgiving with my favorite sister, could I?”

“I’m your only sister, you idiot,” Emma says, her voice muffled. 

“August!” Henry shouts from inside the house. He throws himself at the man and he picks him up like he weighs nothing. “Red!” the little boy screams as he’s passed to the other woman’s arms.

“Hey kid!” she tells him, kissing the top of his head.

Emma ushers them in and introduces you to the new arrivals. August Booth, who is apparently her brother, though the tone in which she tells you this makes you question the fact, and Ruby Lucas, who Henry apparently calls Red because of the streaks in her hair, who is her best friend and sometimes roommate in New York.

“No hug for me?” Belle asks from her place beside the table, looking directly at Ruby, who puts Henry down and rushes to the other woman, engulfing her in a bone crushing hug that lasts a very long time. 

“Yeah,” Emma tells you. “It’s, uh, it’s complicated with them.”

Henry has dragged August back to his bedroom to show him something and Belle and Ruby are whispering, their heads close together, so it’s just you and Emma, standing in the middle of the living room.

“Let’s sit,” she tells you, but you hesitate.

“Maybe I should go,” you say. “You obviously weren’t expecting your, uh, friends to visit. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Regina, stay,” she says softly, taking your hand and pulling you towards the table, and it’s the first time she’s said you name. You like how it sounds from her lips, and so you give in and follow her.


	11. Emma

**DECEMBER 2012**

Things change after Thanksgiving. You talk to Regina every time you see her, even if you don’t have any scenes together yet, and you ignore the stunned looks that follow you around now, like you’re some kind of superhero. It gets ridiculous when an AD, who looks to be older than you, actually, finds you outside Regina’s door and begs you to give her a note from Jefferson. 

“She’s not that bad,” you tell him. “She’s really not bad at all.”

You take the note anyway and knock on her door, and when she opens it you are so surprised you can’t stop the “Oh” forming in your lips. She’s wearing glasses. Regina Mills wears glasses. Thick, dark rimmed glasses that make her look even hotter than she normally is. Like, 10 times hotter, which is probably about the temperature of molten lava or something.

She immediately takes them off, embarrassed. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” you say.

“Well, Miss Swan, you don’t know everything about me,” she answers. She looks at you, expectantly.

“Right! Here, an AD gave me this for you,” you say, giving her the note. She reads it quickly, holding it close to her face and squinting, and sighs.

“My scenes got cancelled,” she tells you. “Again,” she adds, slightly annoyed.

“Mine too,” you tell her. “Actually that’s why I was here. Do you want to do lunch?”

She frowns. 

“Thank you, Miss Swan. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline though,” she says politely. She is always so polite even when she is being a bitch or when she’s telling of the costume designer because he’s decided to subtract another inch to the hem of her dress.

“I found this really, really good barbecue place,” you tell her hopefully. In the last few days you’ve discovered that if you insist on something she is likely to give in. “Your scenes got cancelled,” you add.

She finally agrees and you guide her to your trailer to say goodbye to Henry. You would have taken him with but he’s made some friends, the kids of the catering staff, and he likes to have lunch with them. He hugs you and you pick him up and kiss him, and then he surprises both you and Regina when he hugs her too. She is stiff as a board when she tells him goodbye, but she does smile.

You climb in your SUV. It’s littered with toys and knick-knacks. It’s clean, thank god. You’re not sure you could have looked this woman in the face if she’d had to pick sub wrappers and empty water bottles to be able to sit, which would have been the case had you not gotten rid of all the road trip junk a few days ago.

It’s not a long drive, barely twenty minutes. You found it last week before August and Ruby left for New York, and the food is delicious, easily the best barbecue you’ve ever had, but the place is not much to look at. When you park the car Regina looks outside the window and raises an eyebrow. A trailer with long picnic tables surrounding it.

“It’s not the fanciest,” you tell her, “but it is goddamn delicious. You in?”

She nods and you walk her to the ordering window but she doesn’t know what to get, so you end up ordering for the both of you. 

You sit down and wait for your food, and you can’t help but staring at her. Her phone rings and she looks tired all of a sudden but then she checks the screen and immediately smiles. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, standing up. “I have to take this.”

She doesn’t wait for you to answer, instead she starts rapidly talking on the phone with someone named Kat. You haven’t seen her smile like this before, carefree and relaxed. You try not to eavesdrop but it’s the first time you’ve seen her willingly answer the phone. Every other time it rings she’s let it go to voicemail and you wonder what it is about this person that makes her so happy. She walks in circles around the tables as she talks, and you can only hear snippets of her conversation.

“And how is that idiotic brother of yours?” she asks.

“I wasn’t alone, I swear, there were like 5 other people there,” she says sneaking a look in your direction. 

“I’m eating properly,” she whispers, and you pretend to check your own phone so she doesn’t notice you can hear anyway.

She hangs up and sits next to you again.

“It was my friend Kat,” she says. “Kathryn Nolan.”

You know Kathryn. Not well enough that you would call her Kat, but you’ve had dinner a couple of times. It’s David, her twin brother, who is your friend.

“How long have you known her?” you ask.

“Oh about… 17 years?” she answers, surprising you. That is a long time to know someone, and it’s impressive that they remain friends.

“Did you meet her in kindergarten or something?” you say, gently nudging her on the ribs.

“A movie. We did a movie together when I was 8,” she explains.

“I take it you don’t like her brother,” you comment. David is nice, and he is a true friend, but you can see how his and Regina’s personalities wouldn’t mesh well.

“Do you know David?” she asks you. 

“We did a mini-series almost 4 years ago,” you answer.

She frowns, thinking, and then she opens her eyes, wide.

“The one with the giant spiders?” she asks.

“Yup.”

“Interesting choice,” she says, obviously aiming for neutral. The thing was awful.

“Hey! It paid for my apartment,” you protest.

“I hope it’s a very nice apartment,” she tells you.

"Hey!" you protest. "We can't all be gifted with the amazing gift of one great script after another," you tell her.

She snorts, which is both the most unladylike and adorable thing you've seen her do, so far.

"Please," she says. "You are a blonde, blue-eyed beautiful woman with what I understand to be a not small amount of talent. this business was made for you."

"Oh, come on," you protest again. "I'm playing a drug-addict who will be dead in a couple of scenes. That's hardly fairy tale stuff."

"I play a stripper, Miss Swan," she tells you, but she's not joking anymore. "It's not even the first time," she adds.

You would have said something but a man in a greasy apron is setting your food in front of you. Also, you don't know what to say. The sight of the food reminds you that you are incredibly hungry and you dig in without a second thought. It’s not until you reach to grab a biscuit that you realize Regina hasn’t eaten a thing. She’s just looking at her plate, a piece of meat on her fork but it doesn’t look as if she has any intention of actually eating it.

“The way this works,” you tell her, “is that you put the food _in_ your mouth.”

She smiles at you and finally takes a bite. If she was a cartoon, her eyes would have grown to twice their original size.

“This is delicious,” she says with her mouth still half full. 

“Told ya!” you say happily, in between mouthfuls of your own. “Best barbecue you’ve ever tasted, right?”

“Only barbecue I’ve ever had,” she says distractedly, as she uses a biscuit to soak up the gravy still on her plate.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“We can’t all eat like you and still look… like you,” she says, looking you up and down. It makes you smile.

“Are you implying I look good?”

“Well, not at the moment,” she says as she takes a paper napkin and runs it over your chin. You’re sure your face is turning red, but she laughs, softly, the paper napkin still clasped on her hand, and she looks so beautiful all of a sudden it takes your breath away.

“You should laugh more,” you tell her when she starts eating again.

She gives you a small smile and ducks her head and you find yourself trying to make her laugh for the rest of the day.


	12. Emma

Filming hasn’t resumed yet and you’re starting to go restless. You enjoy the free time, and it’s been frankly amazing, getting to know Regina and hanging out with her like this, just drinking coffee together and walking through the different sets together, and she doesn’t even call you Miss Swan anymore. She still hasn’t said your name but progress has been made. You had a very tight schedule to begin with, though, and you need to be out of here in 10 days, tops, if you want to make it to Hawaii. You are easily replaceable; there are a lot of 23 year-old blonde actresses who look good in a bikini. Your next movie may not have as great a script as this one, and from what you know so far its success is resting heavily in special effects and a good-looking cast, but it pays so well, and your agent insists it’s a good role.

At least you’re not wasting time. You’ve done table readings, you’ve run scenes with Regina and Charles, you’ve been to wardrobe more times than you can count. Everyone is ready to film except for Jefferson. You knew he was a bit eccentric to begin with, but you never thought it’d be this bad. He claims he needs time to process and understand what direction the rest of the movie is going to take, now that most of the first part is done.

The crew seems to be enjoying the unofficial time off, and you know they have earned it. Production started about 3 months before you got here, and after they wrap things up in Louisiana they’ll be moving on to the next location.

Also, both Regina and Charlie have assured you that this is totally normal, that production probably foresaw this anyway. Unlike you, they’ve worked with Jefferson before and even Regina, who by now you know is a consummate professional, is not worried, but you’re not used to not doing anything. It’s nice, though, spending time with Regina before you have to actually perform together.

She walks towards you with a cup of coffee in each hand. You’ve been waiting for about half an hour for her to come back, and you’re about to tell her so when you see your face.

“Your friends are here to see you,” she says sharply. She leaves your coffee on the table and walks away and you want to know what the hell happened to the woman you were joking with a few moments ago, but she’s gone before you can fully process what’s going on. And then you see him. David Nolan, tall and great looking as always, walking hand in hand with who you assume is his new girlfriend.

“Emma!”

He gives you a soft hug, like he always does, and you be happy to see him if you weren’t so damn confused.

“Hey David,” you say.

His girlfriend hums beside him, prompting him to introduce her to you.

“This is Mary-Margaret,” he says proudly. You smile at the girl.

“Was that Regina Mills you were talking to?” she asks. 

You frown, on top of whatever prompted her mood, you don’t think sticking a crazy fan on her is going to go down well, so you’re not sure what to tell her.

“Oh, don’t worry. We’ve known each other for years. I need to talk to her actually. David, do you mind if I go look for her?”

David, who had been sitting next to you and drinking your coffee, starts to stand up to join her. 

“Honey, you visit with Emma while I talk to Regina. It’s just going to be a second. Have fun!” she says, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. He follows her with his eyes until she turns around a trailer and the goofy smile on his face tells you just how in love he is this time.

“So, you really like her,” you tell him.

“I really like her,” he replies. “She’s… she’s something else,” he says with a dreamy look. You snort. “I didn’t know you were friends with Regina,” he says.

“We’re not friends… exactly. We just, hang out sometimes, you know?”

He shrugs. David is a quiet guy, that’s what you like about him. 

“How did you get in anyway?”

“Mary-Margaret knows the producers. They were friends of her dad from way back.”

“Why are you here anyway? Weren’t you in Miami?”

“Mary-Margaret really needs to talk to Regina and she hasn’t been taking her calls. When I told her she was filming down there she insisted. And my sister wanted me to check in on her anyway.”

“I didn’t know Kathryn was friends with her.”

“We met her when we were about 10, doing a movie. Actually, I think that was Kat’s last movie. She never acted after that.”

“I didn’t know she acted at all.”

“We were filming on our summer break and it wrapped about a week before school started, but Kat had been offered a movie and she was all for it at first but after the wrap party, when we went home, she told me she never wanted to do another movie again. That she just wanted to be a regular kid.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” he says.

You try to take your coffee from him but he holds it away with one hand and wraps his other arm around your waist, managing not to spill anything.

“Oh, come on!” you say, trying to pry his arm away, but he just chuckles, turns sideways and takes on last sip before letting you go and giving it back to you.

“I think it was Regina, actually,” he says.

“Huh?”

“I think it was because of Regina, you know, that Kat stopped acting.”

“Why?” you ask, very interested. You know Regina has been working for a long time, you even remember watching a few movies where it looks like she’s no older than six, but you haven’t really considered what that must have been like.

“We didn’t want to go back to school, me and Kat, we were loving the attention, we got everything we wanted and everyone was telling us how great we were, and we didn’t want it to stop but Regina, she used to asks us about school all the time. Asked us about our friends, and our books, and if we were excited to go back and I just couldn’t understand why someone would be so into school, you know? And then at the wrap party, all the other kids from the movie were talking. Most of them were going back to school, but when I asked Regina, she told me she couldn’t go to school because she had to fly to Albuquerque the next day, for a movie, and that she was home-schooled anyway.”

You don’t know what to say to him. You wish he hadn’t told you at all, because now you can’t stop thinking about Regina at 8, working in one project after the other when all the other kids where in school, thinking about math and recess and what was for lunch. 

Mary-Margaret comes back then. You check your watch, she hasn’t been gone for long but her face is blotchy and she looks like she wants to cry.

“What’s wrong?” David asks immediately.

“It’s nothing,” she sniffs. “Can we just go?”

David looks at you and you nod. He says he’ll call you later and then quickly guides Mary-Margaret away, his arm around her shoulders. You finish your coffee and throw it in the garbage bin, and then you realize you forgot to ask him how his girlfriend knew Regina.


	13. Regina

You have been avoiding her. You tell yourself it’s only because you’re busy again, because filming has resumed and you can afford to waste time with someone who was nothing more than a stranger 2 weeks ago. You tell yourself so many things, but in the end the reason you don’t want her near anymore is simple enough. She will _know_.

You thought you could make a friend. You thought having lunch together and meeting her son meant she was going to be your friend but she will grow tired of you. She will realize you are nothing but a bitter shell of a human being, that you are not the nice person she wants to believe you are, that you are every bit the bitch everyone warned her about.

Of course, you may want to avoid her, but you’re doing a movie together and today you shoot the first of your scenes together. Your fictional husband left you for her character and now she is dying and he is getting deployed again and he’s asked you to look after her. Your fictional husband is kind of an asshole. 

She looks pale and sickly as you help her inside the house. You talk and talk and she only stares straight ahead, like you’re not even there. The scene is perfect and it’s over in only two takes. Emma’s body shakes one last time and then she’s standing straight again. Her lights up when she hears Henry’s laugh, who is running to her arms. 

“You did really good,” he tells her. “You, too,” he adds looking at you. You smile at him, and the warmth you feel towards him surprises you. “We’re playing video games today,” he announces. “Do you want to come?”

Emma’s eyes open widely and she looks uncertainly at you.

“Uhm, kid, I’m sure Regina has other things to do.”

“Do you have other things?” he asks you, a frown on his face. “Come play with us, please?”

“You and your mother will have a lot more fun without me,” you tell him, though your eyes are fixed on Emma’s. “Maybe another time.” You start to walk away but Emma’s voice stops you.

“Regina! Wait! I, uh, I’d like it if you came. Please?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. You were awful to her, and you’ve been ignoring her every time she’s attempted to talk to you, and yet here she is, trying one more time. You don’t understand this woman at all.

“Is five alright?” she asks you and you nod again. You leave quickly and shut the door to your trailer harder than you need to. You don’t understand why she’s so nice to you all the time, even when you’re being downright unpleasant. It’s like she doesn’t see who you are at all.

There’s a knock at the door. You know it’s her without even opening and you take a deep breath before facing her.

“I’m sorry,” she tells you. She shouldn’t always have to be apologizing, you think. You’re the one who’s always such a bitch and she’s the one who always says she’s sorry.

“He shouldn’t have asked you like that,” she says. “If you don’t want to go, or if you really have other plans, it’s fine, you don’t have to-”

“Do you want me to go?” you ask, interrupting her.

“Only if you want to.”

You say nothing.

Emma turns to leave but something stops her.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “I don’t know what happened with David and Mary-Margaret, but I’m sorry it upset you.”

“I’m fine,” you tell her harshly. “It was nothing,” you add.

“It was something,” she tells you. “But I guess it’s none of my business.”


	14. Regina

“Come on, kid! Isn’t it my turn to play?” Emma protests from behind the couch and you suddenly realize that you’ve been at their house for more than 2 hours. Henry is setting up a new game and you hate to disappoint him, but you’ve overstayed your welcome and you really should leave.

“I should go,” you say, getting up from the couch. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Emma says, shuffling from one foot to the next.

“Don’t leave yet!” Henry protests.

“Look, we’ll order dinner, alright?” Emma says. “Don’t leave yet,” she pleads.

Henry cheers from the couch and Emma smiles at you and you give in. 

“I’ll stay,” you tell them. “But I’ll make dinner.” It’s the least you can do, you argue. Emma finally agrees and shows you around the kitchen.

“Me and Henry will eat pretty much anything,” she tells you. Her kitchen, like the rest of the one-floor condo, is set up almost exactly like yours, but where you have a knife block on the counter, she has a childproofed drawer where she keeps hers. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” she asks before leaving to go play with Henry.

“You can set the table when I’m done,” you tell her.

You take out pans and skillets, open the pantry and decide you’ll make a simple dish of pasta. Children like pasta, right? Emma said she and Henry will eat anything, but you really want to make something they’ll like, not just something they’ll eat because they have to.

Their fridge is as well stocked as yours, and you find a spice rack with every condiment still sealed. You mince garlic and chop onions, you peal tomatoes and take out the seeds, and soon you feel at home. You make a batch of cupcakes while the sauce is cooking and a salad while the pasta is boiling and it’s so satisfying, to cook for someone other than you. 

This could have been your life. You could have had a family, once. You close your eyes and inhale the smell of the sauce simmering in the stove. You listen to Henry’s laugh in the living room. This is all you ever wanted. You have to force yourself to open your eyes, to come back to the present.

Emma sets the table while you serve the food, and they both thank you profusely before digging in.

“What did you put in this thing?” Emma asks with her mouth still full. “It is so delicious.”

“Oh, Emma,” you sigh. “You have a spice rack, you might try using it,” you say, as if it should be obvious.

“It came with the house,” Emma says. “I wouldn’t know what to do with any of it anyway,” she shrugs.

You shake your head. You can only imagine what she’s been feeding Henry for the last five years, if the way the little boy is practically inhaling his food is any indication but you can’t deny that she is an excellent mother. Emma makes him eat his salad first and drink his milk, and softly corrects him when he holds his fork the wrong way, and the boy obviously adores his mother. This is how it’s supposed to be, you think, this is what being is a kid should be like.

When you take out the cupcakes, they both squeal with glee. 

Emma is only two years younger than you but she spends so much time acting like a kid that sometimes you don’t understand her at all. You like her in spite of yourself. You like her laugh and the way she treats you like a regular person. She seems to be able to see the better you and though you don’t understand you, and at times it makes you deeply uncomfortable, you can’t deny that it’s nice.

You start clearing the table after dinner but Emma stops. She pours you a glass of wine.

“Sit. Relax. Drink your wine. Me and the kid will do the dishes.”

You sit on the living room, paying close attention to what they are saying over in the kitchen. Henry is being as helpful as a five year old can be, while Emma asks him all sorts of questions. 

After they finish with the dishes they both join you in the living room in the sofa in front of you. You had a late dinner and it’s almost 9 now. Emma offers you a cup of coffee and you reluctantly agree. You should really go home but instead you stay and you and Emma talk in soft tones, until Henry falls asleep. He is curled up next to his mother, his head on her lap. Emma looks so relaxed. Her feet are up on the coffee table and her hand idly strokes Henry’s hair. You hand itches to reach out and do the same. She looks at you and raises a finger to her lips, then she stands, and with tenderness you didn’t think her capable of, she takes the little boy in her arms and leaves the room, whispering in his ear until they reach his bedroom.

You start collecting all the things that are somehow spread out all over Emma’s house. Your purse on the little table next to the door, the scarf you were wearing before you started dinner on the back of a chair, your cell phone on the kitchen counter, the rings you took off when you were washing the tomatoes. It’s not like you, to be so disorderly and careless with your things, but it’s comfortable here, far more comfortable than in your own small house for all that they look exactly the same.

Emma comes back and sits on the couch.

“Don’t leave,” she tells you.

You sit down again, wondering what she could possibly want now. You’ve given everything you know how to give today, just by being her, just by laughing at her child’s jokes and smiling at her when she acted goofy. You don’t know what else there is to give, at this point.

“You called me Emma,” she says. “At dinner, you called me Emma. I think that’s the first time you’ve actually said my name. It was kinda awesome.”

You didn’t realize you had. Though you refer to her as such when you think about her (far too often for your liking), she’s right, you hadn’t called her that before.

“You should have been a chef or something,” she tells you after a while.

You frown. That was unexpected.

“Really, that sauce was amazing. And Henry ate all his salad, and that never happens so I need to know what you put in that dressing.”

You stare at her, speechless

“And those cupcakes? To die for. I almost want to ask you to make me more before you leave.”

“What are you doing?” you ask her. She sighs and looks at you with the saddest eyes.

“I’m trying to have a normal conversation,” she tells you. “Obviously I suck at it.”

“Oh. No. I mean, no, you don’t suck at it but I don’t- I don’t know how to answer to that.”

“To what, praise?” she offhandedly tells you.

You blush against your will and have to look away.

“Oh my god,” she exclaims. “You actually don’t know. How is that even possible? Even I know how to take a compliment .”

You stand up. You need to get away from here fast.

“I should go,” you tell her for the second time that night.

Emma looks at you for almost an entire minute before she laughs. You would really like to know what she is on and if you could get some. You have completely lost control of the situation by now. She walks you to the door in silence, though you can tell she wants to laugh.

She opens the door for you and you’re about to say goodbye when her face is suddenly about half an inch away from yours. And then she kisses you.

Her lips are so soft and you can’t help but leaning into it. It’s been so long since anyone’s kissed you like this, like they expect nothing else. 

“Alright,” she says, breaking the kiss. “I’ll see you around tomorrow?”

You nod, even though you wish you never had to see her again.


	15. Emma

You are dead. Well, your character is. You died with Regina’s arms around you, and you wonder if she could feel your heart pounding. You’re pretty sure she could, but she’s far too polite, as always, to says anything about it. You are leaving for Oahu in three days and you are going to miss her. You can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

You are almost giddy as the scene wraps. You want her to keep her arms around you forever, and you want to drag her to your trailer and kiss and kiss her and hear that hitch on her breath that means she’s about to say something. You want to talk to her and listen to everything she has to say. 

Basically, you just want her.

But then you look at her and her eyes are blank. She stands up and your body slips from her arms and bumps against the metal bed frame.

“Well,” she says, “it was lovely working with you, Miss Swan.” She extends her hand in front of her. You’re pretty sure she means for you to shake her hand but really, that’s ridiculous. Even if you hadn’t kissed, even if you didn’t want to kiss her right now, a handshake would be a ridiculous way to say goodbye.

“Seriously?” you ask her. “A handshake?”

She sighs, lowers her hand and starts walking away, just like that. It takes you a few seconds to react and then you end up following her all the way back to her trailer. You don’t even bother to change out of the nightshirt you had on for your scene. She’s standing with her back to you, her fist tightly wrapped around the door handle.

“I can’t do this,” she tells you.

“You can’t talk to me?”

“I’m sure talking isn’t all you have in mind, Miss Swan,” she says without turning around.

“Come on,” you say. “Can you turn around for a second?”

She does, and she looks so profoundly unhappy it makes you regret everything in your life.

“You’re not going to go, are you?” she sighs. She goes inside but leaves the door open and you take it to mean she wants you to follow her.

Inside, the place is spotless. The only trace there’s a living, breathing human being who occupies that space, is a change of clothes neatly folded on top of a chair and a hairbrush on top of a vanity.

“Wait here,” she tells you. She picks up the clothes and walks to the far back of the trailer, behind a wood screen. You hear the rustling of clothes and see the simple cotton dress she wore in your last scene hit the floor. She is naked behind that screen. You try to think about anything but Regina, in her underwear, just a few feet away from you.

You stare at that dress, on the floor, until she bends down to pick it up.

“What do you want?” she asks you when she emerges from behind the screen. She’s wearing slacks and a white shirt, and she has no shoes on. You can see her toes. She looks awfully small, and she makes you feel huge and awkward, even in your nightshirt and flip-flops.

You force yourself to think about her question, but the truth is you don’t know what you want. You just don’t want to shake her hand and say goodbye, and then pretend like the last couple of weeks never happened.

“I wanted to ask you to dinner,” you finally tell her.

“That might not be the best idea,” she replies, she leans against the wall and crosses her arms.

“Why?”

“You just don’t understand, do you? I don’t want to see you anymore, Miss Swan,” she says in a harsher tone than you’ve heard since you met her. It stings.

“I thought we could be friends,” you try, “I thought-”

“Friends?” she asks. “I don’t need a new friend,” she adds. “I don’t need a girlfriend,” she almost spits. “What I need is to be left alone.”

You don’t know what to say. Clearly, you lost handle of this conversation way before it began. 

“Why are you doing this?” you ask her.

“Believe me, Miss Swan, we are both better off this way. Now, I would appreciate it if you left me alone. I have things to do.”

She doesn’t move from her spot against the wall. Her eyes are cold and bored, and you suddenly feel the stirrings of anger inside you. How dares she? Who gave her the right to dismiss you like this? Like you’re nothing, like you’re something she needs to scrape off the sole of her shoes.

“Go away,” she tells you, her tone flat. “Now.”

“Who did this to you?” you ask her, staring straight into her eyes, challenging her. 

She laughs and it is downright creepy.

“Go away,” she repeats, her lips curling into a nasty smile.

You leave, slamming the door on your way out.


	16. Emma

**JUNE 2013**

You hate ADR. There’s probably nothing in the world you hate more than ADR. 

Additional Dialogue Recording, or basically saying the same lines again and again and again until they perfectly match the way you said them the first time around.

Also, it goes on in a very tiny sound studio and you are all alone with Gus, the sound guy. And nothing against Gus, he’s probably a hell of a nice guy, but you hate tiny confined spaces. 

At least you can record in New York. Hawaii was awesome and you got a wicked tan, but you missed the city. You missed the noise, the crowd, your early morning runs through the park. You have a home here and so does your son. You like shopping for groceries in the same place every week, and talking to the same neighbors every time you run into them, and taking Henry to the park to play. You missed your apartment, too, and if his enthusiastic shout of “TOYS!” was anything to go by, so did Henry.

You finished filming in April, and then had to do Cannes in May and it’s barely been 2 days since you’ve been back and now you have to do this, and it is nerve-wrecking. Gus is probably so tired of you by now and you still have another day to go. 

You take yet another break and this time Gus doesn’t even look at you. He just waves you out as he checks something in his phone. When you’re in the corridor outside you stand next to a window and take deep breaths. You just can’t handle closed spaces. It’s a thing.

You’re looking out the window when you hear someone walking towards you, the click-clack of high-heels alerting you to their presence.

It’s her. It’s Regina fucking Mills. You want to bang your head against the wall when you see her. She stops on her tracks about two feet away from you.

She’s perfectly put together, as always. Dark skinny jeans and loose blue shirt that reaches down to mid-thighs. Her sunglasses are perched up on top of her head, keeping her loose hair away from her face. She has one of those super expensive, super big designer bags and what seems like a hundred silver bracelets bangle on her wrist.

“Miss Swan,” she greets you, civil as always, even though she was positively a bitch the last time you saw her. 

“Hey,” you say, articulate as ever. You resist the urge to bury your hands in the pockets of your hoody. You probably look like a slob next to her, in your torn jeans and old sneakers.

You stare at each other for a long time. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say in this situation. She made it very clear that she didn’t want to be your friend but she is far more than just someone you worked with a few months ago. And she obviously feels the same or she would have kept walking.

“You gave my son a first edition,” you finally say. 

The Little Prince. The book was addressed to Henry, and it somehow made it to their little place in Oahu 2 days before Christmas. Six months later you still don’t know what to make of it. 

“Did he like it?” she asks, her voice neutral.

“He loved it,” you tell her.

She nods.

Then you are standing there, again, in a hallway full of awkward silence.

“Do you want to go for coffee or something?” you surprise yourself by asking.

“You don’t want that,” she says.

“Don’t you think that should be up to me?” you ask. You don’t know why you’re doing this. This is a situation that is better left alone, and usually you strive to make things simpler, to lead a quiet, easy life for you and Henry, but for some reason you can’t let this go.

“I have ADR,” she tells you. “But, later? Later might be good.”

You make plans to meet in a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop a few blocks from your apartment and you go back to Gus and the headphones that make your ears too hot and the small, dark room that makes a chill run down your spine, but time seems to fly this time and you don’t even need any more breaks before your day is over.

It’s a little after 4 when you make it to the coffee shop, and Regina is already there, a cup of steaming coffee on her hands.

“You’re late.” 

“Sorry,” you tell her. “I had to drop Henry off at a play date.”

She seems to soften at that. She asks how he’s been and you talk about him for a while. 

“He really liked the book,” you say, when a minute has gone by and neither of you have spoken. “He took it to show his friend Alex today.”

“I’m glad. That was my favorite book as a child.”

“Kinda sad for a children’s book,” you observe.

“I suppose,” she says. “He’s a smart boy, though. I thought he would like it.”

“He did, really. I can see why you’d like it.”

She looks up from her coffee probably for the first time since you sat next to her.

“I have a bad temper,” she says.

“I’ve seen you angry, Regina, that’s not exactly breaking news.”

“I am sorry for the way I acted. If I hurt you in any way-”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you interrupt her. “Surprised the hell out of me though. But it takes more than that to hurt me.”

“I’m not a good person,” she says in the same even tone she’s been using all afternoon. “You don’t want me around.”

“That one day when your inner bitch took over notwithstanding, you’re a pretty awesome person to be around so I don’t understand why you keep saying these things.”

She shifts in her seat and fidgets with her spoon, and it’s probably the first time you’ve seen her be this uncomfortable in her own skin.

“Look Regina,” you start, “I try to keep my life simple, mostly for Henry’s sake and this thing with you, with us, it’s really freaking complicated, you know? So god only knows why I am doing this but come on, we should at least give it a try?” 

You end with something resembling a question, and while you’re waiting for Regina to give you an answer you realize you haven’t even considered what she wants in all of this. You know you’re crazy attracted to her, and you know that before she freaked out on you she was kissing you back like there was no tomorrow, but looking at her, nervously stirring her coffee, and avoiding your eyes again, you wonder if maybe you’re being selfish. It’s been a long time since anyone has made you feel the way she does, even after not seeing her for more than six months, and the way she acted that day, she still makes you a bit giddy, but that doesn’t mean she wants you.

You avoided her, everything that had to do with her, for the most part but some nights, after you got home from shooting and you were still wired, after kissing Henry goodnight and tucking him in, when the baby sitter was gone and you were alone in the house, you got the laptop out and read about her. Just for 5 minutes or so, but it was enough, and now you know things, and it makes you wonder if maybe you’re pushing too hard.

“Do you want to be my friend?” you ask her. “I like you, and you called me Emma, that day, so I think you might like me too. But something made you scared enough to act like a bitch, and that’s fine. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed so hard,” you finish. Now it’s your turn to stare at the bottom of your cup, and you can see what was so fascinating about it because you don’t look up until you hear voice again.

“I think we could be friends,” she says, “Emma.”


	17. Regina

“It’s almost a sure thing,” Kat tells you over the phone. “Please tell me you’re in.”

“I don’t know,” you say. Six months ago, a pilot seemed like the perfect thing for you, but now you just don’t know.

“Tell me you’ll do the pilot,” she pushes. “Regina, I wrote that character for you, you have to at least do the pilot.” You agree to nothing and she soon changes the subject, trying to convince you to go down to LA and visit her.

You’re exhausted when you hang up. You love her dearly and she’s about the only person you ever let push you so much and this is why you became friends in the first place. She refused to let you go, even from the start, and she knows you better than any other person in the world, which is why she’s insisting you to do this. She knows you not only want it, but need it. Emma reminds you of her, sometimes, pushing you out of your comfort zone.

The first time you called Emma, she surprised you by asking you to meet her in the park. You ate hotdogs and walked with her and Henry all afternoon. She invited you to her apartment and after Henry went to sleep she convinced you to drink a beer, which was surprisingly tasty. The second time you called, she tried to teach you how to skateboard, but you flat out refused and ended up watching her go up and down the street, sitting on her doorstep with Henry, who also declined, clapping next to you every time she did a trick. The third time you called, she told you she would call you back and you’re still waiting.

You want to spend time with her. You want to be with her and hear her laugh and you want to tell her a million times no every time she tries to make you do something crazy. You want to kiss her. You want her to kiss you. The last time you felt like this you were 15 years old and you are so afraid of events repeating themselves. You like Emma a lot, and you think she might be just as attracted to you, and you don’t know how to do it. You walked away before and it didn’t work. You hadn’t seen her in six months but with a single look she got a hold of you again and you’re not strong enough to walk away, even if you know this will bring nothing but trouble.

You can’t imagine what your mother will say if she finds you are… involved with someone like Emma Swan. She lost the right to make decisions for you a long time ago, but she still believes that she can dictate your life. Most of the time you manage to avoid her altogether, but she’s been more and more insistent over the last six months, ever since you flat out refused to meet with her in New York, and even from a different continent her presence is weighting you down.

You’ve decided to take a vacation. After you finished ADR, your agent, lawyer, manager and even your financial advisor recommended you take some time off. You’ve done 9 movies in the last 4 years. Before that you were married for 3 years, during which time you made 3 movies for Leopold and one movie with Kat, back in the first few months of your marriage when Leo still let you leave the house by yourself. 

As a child, you don’t ever remember not working, except for the precious few months each year that you spent with your father, before he died. You will take three months to be by yourself, but truth is you don’t know how to fill your days. You have virtually no skills other than acting, and the last time you had a whole summer for yourself you were 12 and spent it inside the house with Kat’s mother learning how to cook, learning how to like food again. You grew breast practically overnight and the role your mother had lined up for you called for a cute little girl in pigtails, not a young girl that was beginning to look like a woman. You thought for sure that your career was over and you had no idea what you were going to do with your life.

Now you know this is just a momentary situation. You already have several jobs lined up, the first of which starts in September. There’s also awards season, which always keeps you busy. You even win something, sometimes.

You’ve started cooking again. Usually you don’t bother, and mostly you eat salads and fruit when you’re alone, prompting Kat to keep bothering you about your eating habits, which concern her greatly, though you haven’t had a relapse in over 4 years. She always thinks you are underweight, and every time you see each other after a prolonged time apart she examines you with a clinical eye, looking for signs of malnutrition. It’s like she can’t let go and all she sees is that skinny, malnourished 12 year-old her mother had to take in for a summer.

You still don’t like to be outside. You prefer the solitude of your own home and feel nothing but dread at the thought of leaving the apartment. Emma doesn’t realize that your hesitation at going places with her is not at all about being with her rather than about the profound anxiety you feel when you are surrounded by strangers. Your face is so easily recognizable, and even behind the sun glasses you wear to block the June sun, you always feel like there is someone staring at you. 

That’s why you like your downstairs neighbor. She is around 80, her favorite actress is Audrey Hepburn and she doesn’t watch movies made after 1974. She has no idea who you are, only knows that you’re the nice girl from upstairs who sometimes brings her food.

You’re putting the finishing touches on the blueberry pie you’re planning to give her when the phone rings. It’s Emma.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing she tells you. “I meant to call earlier but I was dealing with… some things.”

“That’s alright,” you tell her. You hope your tone doesn’t betray how happy you are to hear her.

“So I was thinking,” she starts, “would you like to go to dinner with me?”

You remain silent. You would like to, definitely, but you don’t know how to tell her yes. It take you too long to answer and soon Emma is backtracking.

“That’s fine,” she says, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to. It was just an idea. It’s fine. Forget about it.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you’ll forget about it?” 

“Yes, I’d like to go to dinner with you.”

“Alright then,” she says, and you can almost hear her smile.


	18. Regina

The black dress, you decide. You always look your best in black. There’s about a half dozen dresses on top of your bed, the final contestants in the “What will you wear tonight?” contest. You even considered pants at some point but you don’t actually know where you’re going and you don’t know if pants would be appropriate. Emma gave you no clue as to where you were going; all she said was “dress nice”, but it wasn’t as helpful as she probably thought it was. You always dress nice. Unlike her, who you still haven’t seen in anything but jeans, you always take care of looking your best. 

Once you’ve decided what you’ll wear, the rest of the afternoon goes by too quickly and all too soon Emma is knocking on your door.

“Wow.”

“Excuse me?”

“Wow,” she repeats. “You are incredible. You look incredible, I mean. You _look_ incredible.” 

She smiles at you. Her red dress looks perfect on her and her long blonde hair is loose around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” you reply. “You look lovely.”

“Come on,” she says, extending a hand. “Your carriage awaits.”

Your carriage turns out to be a black town car and it’s a little awkward for a second as Emma tries to help you inside. Your dress is very tight, and so is hers, but after she finally stumbles inside the car you both laugh.

“Well,” she laughs, “that was weird.”

You smile at her as the car starts. She won’t tell you where she’s taking you, but she looks so happy that you resolve to love it, whether you like the place or not. You spend the rest of the car ride in silence. You don’t know when you started holding hands, but they are loosely intertwined, and every few minutes you feel a gentle squeeze from Emma.

You start to recognize the streets as you near her house, and when you turn to face she has the biggest smile you have ever seen on her face.

“Surprise!” she chuckles.

She takes you up to the roof of your building and you don’t have to fake it because the place is absolutely beautiful.

“How on earth…?” you start but you can’t quite form the question.

“August helped,” she says. “It was my idea, because I know you don’t like crowds, but he helped me setting this up, and he was in charge of the food, so if anything’s wrong, you know, just blame him, alright?”

“I’m sure everything will be perfect,” you tell, and there’s a small amount of satisfaction in seeing her babble nervously. At least she’s as nervous as you are, even if you hide it better.

You sit down and a series of waiters begin to appear with wine, water, and more food than both of you could possibly finish tonight.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” she tells you in between dishes. 

“It’s fine,” you say. 

“I’m sorry anyway, I should have called sooner. Explained.”

“What happened?” you ask her. She obviously wants to talk to you about it, otherwise you wouldn’t pry. You really do mean it when you say it’s fine. It may have been slightly nerve-wrecking, but you understand that you are not the center of Emma’s life.

“Belle got married,” she tells you sadly. 

“Oh. Was it very sudden?” you ask. Last thing you knew she had been back in New York. Your manager sent you tickets for her new play and you were maybe, possibly, going to ask Emma if she wanted to go with you. 

“You could say that. Ruby, uh, Ruby’s not taking it well.”

You close your eyes for a second and remember the look of pure joy on Ruby’s face when she saw Belle back in Thanksgiving. 

“No, I imagine she wouldn’t.”

“She’s been staying with us,” Emma explains. “That’s why I didn’t call. Believe me you don’t want to get caught in the middle of that. And now Belle and Dr. Gold are moving to Boston after her play finishes and Ruby is a mess.”

“Dr. Gold?” you ask, remembering the name. “Her college professor, Dr. Gold?”

“Yup. Remember how she couldn’t stop talking about him? I thought she was just excited about her research.”

“Did this start when she was still in college?” you ask, because of course, that's the first thing you think about.

“Oh, God,” Emma says. “I didn’t even think about that. Maybe? I don’t know. She was staying with Ruby and one day she just up and left with the guy. I don’t know, Regina. It was pretty awful. And he’s so old, too.”

“I was married once,” you say. It’s not something you like to discuss, and she probably already knew, anyway, but you were going to have to tell her at some point, and this seems as good as any. "He was... older."

“I know,” Emma says. You look up at her but she won’t meet your eyes. “David told me,” she adds.

Of course he did, you think. He doesn't know when to leave things alone.

"I was very young when I married," you say. "It wasn't- It wasn't ideal."

"Yeah, I figured," she says.

“Well, it was hardly a secret,” you tell her. “Everyone knows about it. I just thought I should be the one to tell you. It was over a long time ago, anyway. It hardly matters.”

Emma cocks her head to the side.

“It matters,” she tells you. “Jesus, Regina, of course it matters. And I get it that you don’t want to talk about it, but don’t say it doesn’t matter. Please. You matter.”

She leaves you speechless. Nothing you could have possibly said is appropriate for that reaction. You reach across the table and grasp her hand. Your vision blurs with unshed tears but you attempt a smile, for her.

“Thank you,” you tell her.


	19. Emma

“I’m an orphan,” you say as you walk down the stairs from the roof. The rest of the night was a lot quieter after Regina’s sudden burst of emotion, and now you’re trying to even out the field a little bit.

“I’m sorry?” she asks as she halts mid step. She falters a bit but steadies herself by leaning against the wall.

“An orphan,” you repeat. “Left by the side of the road, grew up in foster care, the whole nine yards.”

“Oh,” she says.

“You shared something with me, so I might as well share something with you, right?” 

“I don’t think it works like that,” she replies. 

“I just didn’t want you to feel like you’re the only one who’s willing to share.”

It seemed like a good idea few minutes ago, now you’re not so sure.

“I’m sorry,” you hear her say. 

“It’s fine,” you say automatically.

She suddenly pulls you into a hug, shocking you into compliance. She is not the most affectionate person, you know, and she seems to have some serious personal boundaries up most of the time.

“Too tight,” you tell her, but you don’t let her pull away. Instead, you keep on holding her until her body relaxes against yours.

“You matter too,” she says softly. She sets her hand against your cheek, and this is probably the closest you have been since the day of the kiss.

You stay together, leaning against the wall, for what seems like ages. It’s dark, but you think Regina might be smiling.

“What?” you ask when she starts chuckling. “Regina, what is it?”

“I can’t feel my right leg,” she says as she softly pushes you away. “Heels and stairs and you are a killer combination, apparently.”

You help her down to your apartment, where Henry is very excited to see her again. It’s late, and he should have been asleep hours ago, but the unnatural pitch of his voice and the way he can’t seem to stay focused are a sure sign that he had too much sugar, which is a regrettably common occurrence when he and Ruby are left alone.

He invites Regina to see his bedroom, and while they’re gone you quickly kick off your shoes and start to pick up Henry’s toys.

“What happened in here?” you ask Ruby, who is sitting on your kitchen counter, greatly amused at your not-quite-frantic-yet-but-closely-enough attempts at straightening out your living room.

“Hey, I thought you wouldn’t be here till morning. What are you doing here anyway? Did you blow it? I told you you should have taken her out.”

“She didn’t blow it, Miss Lucas. Our evening was lovely,” Regina says from the hallway. “Henry is asleep, by the way.”

Both you and Ruby look at her then, and you notice the absence of hyper little boy tagging behind her.

“How?” you ask her. She looks unsure for second.

“He just wanted me to read from his book and he fell asleep. I’m sorry, should I not have done it?”

“No,, no, that’s fine. That’s kind of awesome, actually, he never goes to bed so easily. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she dismisses you.

“This one is a keeper,” Ruby says. She smirks and then goes back to your bedroom, “to give you some privacy,” she says, winking at you.

“Okay,” you say. “Maybe I didn’t think this whole let’s dine out on the roof thing through.”

“I really thought it was lovely,” she argues, walking towards you. “I should leave though,” she adds.

“The car’s downstairs,” you tell her. “I didn’t want to leave you stranded if something happened. But I’d really like it if you stayed for coffee?”

“I’d like nothing more,” she tells you, “but I really must go.”

You know that ideally, you would take her back home and walk her to her door, but you think maybe this is enough for tonight.

In the hallway outside your apartment, she surprises you again. you close your door and turn around to find Regina’s face barely a few inches from yours.

“Is dinner really all you wanted, Emma? Really?”

“Yes,” you say, leaning closer to her face. She smiles at you and for the first time in the whole time you’ve known her you know the two of you are exactly on the same page.

The kiss is nothing short of amazing, and her lips are just as soft as you remember, and the way she gasps for breath when you pull apart makes you crazy with want. 

“Goodnight Emma,” she whispers as she walks away.


	20. Emma

Orange paint would not have been your first choice, but Ruby said she needed a radical change, and you all ended up at what she has named a painting party. All her furniture is covered by plastic sheets in the middle of the room, and she’s cheerfully painting her living room walls a shade of orange you don’t think can be found in nature. It clashes with her hair, too, but at least she’s smiling again.

You invited Regina over, because you needed the help, and because any excuse is good to spend a little more time with her. Now she has orange paint covering most of her face, and Henry looks like he’s been dipped in the stuff, and it is one of the most adorable things you’ve ever seen. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her have this much fun.

“Come on, kid,” you say, extending your hand in front of yourself. “Let’s get you settled.”

You take him into Ruby’s bedroom, which hasn’t been painted yet, and change him into his pajamas. You consider giving him a bath, but end up just trying to wash off the paint from his arms and face. When he’s ready for sleep, you take him outside again, and you find that Ruby has already set up the tent that will be their bedroom for the night.

“Ready for a camp-out, Henry?”

He grins happily and runs inside the tent, and you can see his little body bouncing against the walls.

“Thanks for doing this,” you tell Ruby. 

“Are you kidding? I always wanted to go camping!”

Regina looks at you over the tea she’s drinking and her eyes smile, this is a childhood experience she is also unfamiliar with. Ruby, Regina and you were all raised in the city, and you suspect this is as close as your boy will ever get to real camping, but unlike Ruby, neither Regina nor you are interested in sharing his enthusiasm for the great indoors.

Regina rinses her cup and starts picking up her things, which, as usual, are spread around the place.

You stare at her, her back straight and her hair perfect, her designer purse on her shoulder and you can’t keep from laughing at her, all covered in purple.

“Bye, Henry,” you say, poking your head inside the tent, where he and Ruby are all se up with flashlights and microwave popcorn.

“Bye, Ma!” he tells you. “Bye, Regina!” he screams to make sure she hears him.

“Goodbye, Ruby,” you say. She blows you a kiss and pushes you out, and soon you’re driving Regina home. She dozes against the SUV’s window, but every few minutes she shakes herself awake.

“I’m sorry. I’m just very tired,” she yawns.

“No problem. Just don’t fall asleep on me,” you joke. “You’re pretty tiny, but I don’t think I can carry you in.”

“I won’t,” she murmurs. “I won’t.”

But she does anyway. 

You carefully open the door to the passenger’s side and look at her. This woman is probably the most beautiful human being you have ever seen, but at the moment she looks quite undignified with her hair messed up and her mouth hanging open.

“Hey,” you say, running your hand through her hair. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

She growls, as she wakes. She makes this sound that is half sweet, half wild, and you realize you are in love with her.

“Hey,” you repeat. She catches your hand in hers and holds onto it as she looks around, slightly disoriented. Finally she focuses on your face and her eyes clear.

She smiles at you as her body uncurls.

“I’ll walk you up,” you whisper. You hold hands all the way to the elevator, and when the metal doors close behind you, Regina leans into you, and she is so close together you can’t breathe right, and she’s never been this close before.

She lets go of your hand and fishes for the keys inside her purse, and when the door is finally open and the alarm is off, she takes your hand again.

“Stay,” she says, her voice still thick with sleep and you think this is what she must sound like first thing in the morning.

“I thought you were tired,” you almost stutter. 

“Not too tired,” she replies. She pulls you inside and doesn’t stop until you are in her bedroom.

There’s a moment when neither of you does anything, until you glance towards the bed and it’s like suddenly everything makes sense. You take a step, and then another, and then you’re inches from her face, and you can see the absolute certainty in her eyes. 

The first kiss is gentle, and soft, but it leads to another one, and another one, and then your knees are bending and you’re on the bed. You kiss her neck and start giggling.

“You taste like paint,” you say, and then she laughs as well, and she keeps laughing after all your clothes are gone, and she’s just so happy.

You press your foreheads together and your hands are locked around her waist, and you don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or the day after, or even what will happen in a few minutes, but if you could freeze this moment, you’d live in it forever.

Her hand sneaks between your bodies and you gasp for bread. Her lips are on your neck, and she bites your earlobe and keeps on laughing, even as her finger curl inside of you and all you can hear is your name. Emma, Emma, Emma, she murmurs against your skin, like your name is the only word she knows anymore.

Every part of you burns with desire for her, and when you finally pin her under you, her eyes linger on yours, and she makes these little sounds, these gasps, and the world could end right now and you wouldn’t notice, the way her sounds are your entire world.

Afterwards, she’s on her back, staring at the ceiling. She is half covered with a dark sheet, which might be blue or purple, but you don’t know because you never got around to turning on the lights. This is the perfect way to fall asleep, looking at her.

“My mother sent me to live with my father when I was 10,” she tells you. “He took me to Marseille for the summer, and I was…”

She curls up on her side, staring at you and pulls you towards her, and you can feel every inch of her and after a moment your breathing matches hers.

“I was in the beach, full of apples and sticky with saltwater. I had sand under my nails. I was so happy, Emma. So deliriously happy. I saw this white stone. Perfect. Smooth.” She keeps talking as she traces patterns on your chest. “I took the stone,” she says, “and I put it on my chest. I was so happy I thought I was going to float away and that stone was the only thing that kept me in the ground.”

She lays her hand flat against your chest, on top of your heart.

“I could float away, right now,” she tells you. “And you’re what’s keeping me here.”


End file.
